


paint me a picture (i'll give you my dreams)

by tothemooon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist Harry, Bottom Louis, Insomnia, M/M, Paint Kink, Top Harry, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothemooon/pseuds/tothemooon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Harry paints Louis, sketches him into black and white over a blank canvas, inks the curves of his body onto paper, each stroke a caress as he brings him to life all over again. Other times, he <em>paints</em> Louis, traces patterns over his golden skin with fingertips drenched in colour, claiming him for his own the only way he knows how. </p><p>or the one where Harry is an artist who can't sleep and Louis is his favourite canvas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	paint me a picture (i'll give you my dreams)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not really sure what this is supposed to be but i think it's probably my most favorite thing i've written to date so. enjoy?

Sometimes, Harry can't sleep.

It doesn't happen often, not like it used to, when it was only him in a cold, empty house with nothing but his own racing thoughts tumbling around in his brain, and a pack of cigarettes to keep him company. He still remembers those lonely, sleepless nights like a distant memory, remembers how he used to lay awake, trembling hands rubbing over sketches as the rest of the world slept, painting his own monsters into the dark of the night. 

But that was before Louis, before there was a warm body pressed against him every night, before there was someone to stay awake with him until the sun woke up, keeping the darkness at bay with a single touch. 

Sometimes, Harry likes to think of Louis as a beacon of light, something like the moon, shining bright against the inky blue of his midnight sky, illuminating his world with its glow. He shines brighter than any other person Harry has ever met and he pulls people to him, attracts them like magnets with the sheer force of his personality. Harry used to worry, because if Louis was the Light, then he was the Darkness, and he didn't want to be the one responsible for dimming Louis' light, opaquing his beauty and denying the world of his glow. He remembers telling Louis this once, remembers the way Louis had smiled at him as he had grabbed his hand in his, fingers intertwined. " _I shine brightest when I'm with you,_ " Louis had said, whispered it into the still of the night as if it was a secret meant for only Harry to know, words pressed against his porcelain skin. 

Harry thinks he might find something symbolic hidden there somewhere, if he tries hard enough.

****

"Do you believe in soul-mates?"

It's one of those nights, where sleep is taunting him, dangling in front of him like an unreachable thing, mocking him with an exhaustion that weighs him down to his very core. 

They're laying side by side, Louis' head resting against Harry's chest, the shaggy carpet digging into their bare arms; Harry doesn't remember how they ended up like this, sprawled across the vast expanse of their living room floor, but he thinks it might have been somewhere around the time the clock had reached its end, only to start all over again, a continuous cycle with no end.

There's a sliver of light pouring in through the window, falling into his skin in lines of blue and Harry can't help but stare, transfixed at the way it paints Louis' skin. He loves the way it looks.

He doesn't know how long he stares, Louis' question lost in the darkness, completely mesmerized as he drinks him in, until Louis is nosing against his neck, pulling him back down.

"What are you thinking about, babe?" Louis murmurs, words muffled against his throat and Harry shivers, feels the tremors running down his spine as he rubs a hand down Louis' arm, spreading the light over his skin.

"I want to paint you."

Sometimes, Harry paints Louis, sketches him into black and white over a blank canvas, inks the curves of his body onto paper, each stroke a caress as he brings him to life all over again. Other times, he  _paints_  Louis, traces patterns over his golden skin with fingertips drenched in colour, claiming him for his own the only way he knows how. 

It must be a sign of how often they do this that Louis no longer seems surprised at his words, simply smiles as he trails his hand over his chest, fingers resting above his heart. 

"My body is your canvas," he whispers, his azure eyes shining like moonbeams against the dark seeping into every corner of the room. "Do whatever you want with it."

****

Louis stands behind him as he works, gathering everything he needs, the cold seeping in through his bare feet, pressed against the tiled floor beneath them. They're in one of the spares room that Harry had claimed for himself and Louis had let him because he knows Harry needs a place to escape to when it all becomes too much and his mind becomes a cluttered mess of racing thoughts demanding a way out, somewhere to let all his visions come to life.

He's bare, from the waist down like every other time they've done this, only a pair of tight, black briefs and Louis' body guarding him against the cold. Louis is a warm presence behind him, arms secured around his waist and it feels a lot like Louis is the one keeping him anchored down, stopping him from floating away and joining the dark that seems to be calling his name.

It's a lot like how their relationship feels like, most of the time.

Louis makes a sound in the back of his throat when Harry reaches for the tube of blue paint, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. "I rather like the colour blue."

Harry turns his head to the side, until his nose bumps against the underside of Louis' jaw and he smiles, his lips ghosting over the tender skin there. "Yeah?"

He feels Louis shrug against him, knows he's smiling, too, even if he can't see him. "I look good in it. Suits me, don't you think?"

Harry doesn't say anything, bites back the " _You look good in everything"_  that's sitting on the tip of his tongue, simply lets out a gust of wind that might be a laugh as he turns completely around, Louis' arms falling limply against his side as he pulls away. Louis gives him a look then, bites his lip as he pulls further away and there's a glint to his eye, something mischievous, as he's slipping the sweater he wore to bed off his body, letting it pool around his feet, his briefs following after, sliding off his smooth legs as he undresses, and Harry knows exactly how this is going to end, long before it has even started.

Harry looks at Louis for a moment, admires the way the moonlight is hitting his skin just right and makes him glow bright, sparkle under its touch, his fringe sweeping across his forehead in caramel waves, eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones and there's something beautiful about the way the moonlight seems to envelop Louis, wraps around his body like a thick veil, fitting him like a second skin.

Louis lays down in front of him, spreading himself out onto the yoga mat Harry had spread out only moments before. He spreads his legs, feet pressed flat against the mat, head cocking to the side as he holds Harry's gaze, eyes an open invitation and Harry can't help but stare, completely mesmerized as he drink it all in, explores every inch of Louis' bare body with his eyes, as if he hasn't committed it all to memory by now, mapped it all before, knows everything there is to know, down to the very last freckle adorning his skin.

"Well? What are you waiting for, Styles?" Louis asks, breaking the moment as he stares at Harry, eyebrow arched elegantly across his forehead, dainty hands resting behind him, pushing his body forward. "Paint me like one of your French girls."

He smirks and Harry can't help but laugh this time, the sound reverberating loud in the silence of the night; it's something of a joke between them, something Louis had said the first time Harry had asked permission to paint him, both their hearts beating loudly against their chests as Louis had shed his clothing before Harry could do more than blink, exposing his body as he laid himself bare in front of him, letting him take whatever he wanted.

"Patience, baby," Harry murmurs as he finally moves, kneeling down beside Louis, hand coming down to rest over his thigh. He lets his hands travel up the expanse of his body, ghosting over his leaking cock resting heavily against his hip, and it's his turn to smirk as Louis lets out a small, barely audible gasp, before he's nudging gently against his chest. "Lay down."

Louis goes obediently, as he lets himself fall back, hands slapping softly against the mat as he unbends his knees, spreads himself out, chest heaving in anticipation with every breath he takes. Harry reaches over, dips his fingers into the paint, before he's moving his hands over Louis' body and he can hear the hitch in his breath when he lowers his hands, lets them trail over his chest for a moment, before he's pressing down, paint-covered hands making contact with his burning skin.

Louis shivers, flesh breaking out into goose pimples as Harry's hands start to map out the hills and valleys and plains of his chest, coating it in paint, flashes of blue and black meshing together as Harry spreads them against Louis' skin, until it is the colour of the night sky. He grabs for the gold and blends it in, paints it over Louis' heart, beating a staccato rhythm against his hand as he presses and open-palmed kiss against it and he revels in the sounds Louis emits, the tiny moans he lets out every time Harry touches him, arching into his touch.

His cock is hard and leaking, laying heavily against his hip and Harry reaches for more paint, coating his hand, before he's closing it over his aching cock, painting it blue and Louis moans, and it sounds as if it's being torn from somewhere deep within him as his back rises off the mat, his hands grasping against thin air, pulling into tight fists. 

“Look so gorgeous like this, Lou,” Harry murmurs into the night, hand working slowly over Louis, spreading the colour around, before he reaches down with his other hand, dry finger pressing against his hole, feeling as it quivers around him, a silent plea from Louis' body, urging Harry on.

He opens him up slowly, coats his fingers with the lube he had set out earlier, the same he keeps around for moments like these, while Louis moans, hair matted against his forehead and flush covering his face and neck, adding to the beauty of it all.  

He coats his own dick, leaving a trail of blue behind as he works his hand over his length, before he's pressing into Louis slowly, sinking into him, until he bottoms out, and he reaches down, pressing his lips against Louis', giving him time to adjust. It only takes a few minutes before Louis is nodding, urging him on as he pushes down against him and Harry pulls out slowly, before pushing back in in a swift motion and Louis lets out a gust of breath, head thrown back as he moans, leaving his throat bare for Harry's lips to claim. They work together, Louis groaning and crying out Harry's name like a broken prayer every time Harry brushes against that small bundle of nerves inside him that makes him see stars, Harry leaving a trail of bruises scattered across every inch of exposed skin he can reach, their bodies moving desperately against each other, each thrust bringing them closer to their orgasms.

When Louis comes, spilling completely untouched between their two bodies, he adds his own contribution to the painting on his chest, splattering Harry's masterpiece with tiny white stars. It doesn't take long before Harry's following after him, hips stuttering as he comes with a groan of Louis' name, and it takes both of them by surprise ripping another moan from Louis as Harry fills him up.

Harry falls on top of Louis, completely sated, his painting ruined as the colours blend together, seeping into his skin and it covers his chest, his face, his hair. He finds he doesn't care.

****

It's not until much later, when they're both laying in bed in the brink of sleep, legs intertwined under the sheets, clean and content, bodies heavy with satisfaction, with the first promises of sunlight peeking from the horizon, that Harry remembers Louis' question.

"I don't think I believe in soul-mates," Harry starts, hand tracing patterns over Louis bare hip and Louis makes a sound from the back of his throat as he raises his head minutely, peeking one eye open up at Harry. 

"What?"

"You asked me if I believed in soul-mates."

Louis laughs and the sound reverberates through Harry's body, the vibrations absorbed into the veins beneath his skin. "I didn't think you were even listening."

Harry almost scoffs because there's never been a time where Louis had talked that Harry hadn't listened, but he bites it back, turning his head to bury his nose into the soft tuft of Louis' caramel-coloured hair.

"I don't think I believe in soul-mates, not exactly," he starts again, voice soft as he whispers the words into Louis' skin, a secret meant just for him. "I don't think I'm really sold into the idea of there being someone out there who completes you, who shares your same interests and who you'll live happily-ever-after for the rest of your life with. Life doesn't work that way. Love's more complicated than that."

"That's a bit cynical, don't you think?" Louis asks and Harry shrugs, taking a breath as he gathers his thoughts and Louis presses closer to him, palm splaying over his chest.

"Maybe. But I think-I do think there's just people you're destined to meet, yeah?"

"How do you mean?"

"I just think there's some people you're just meant to cross paths with, whose lives are linked with yours, somehow, who you'll connect with more than anyone else in your life. And maybe you'll be lucky and fall in love or maybe you won't and it'll all be platonic and that's okay, you know? Because eventually you'll find somebody who is right for you, somebody you can fall in love with and that has nothing to do with soul-mates because the idea of just one person being out there for you, just one person being capable to make you happy is kind of absurd. 

"I mean, the idea of soul-mates is nice in theory, but in reality? It wouldn't work. Like, what if your soul-mate lives halfway across the world from you? Somewhere you didn't even know existed? What if for some reason or another, you two never meet? Does that mean you'll never be happy? Never fall in love? It doesn't make a lot of sense."

They stay quiet for a bit, the only sound that of their breathing while Louis absorbs the information, turns Harry's response over in his head. "Do you think we were meant to meet? For whatever reason?"

Harry smiles, pressing his lips further against Louis' hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I think we were. Somehow, I think we'd always find a way to meet, me and you."

He can feel Louis smile against his neck, just as the world outside starts to wake up, the first rays of sun bleeding against the night sky. "I think so, too."

**Author's Note:**

> that last part was inspired by this quote:
> 
>  _"I don't believe in soul mates, not exactly. I think it's ridiculous to think there's only one person out there for us. What if your 'soul mate' lives in Zimbabwe? What if he dies young? I also think 'two souls becoming one' is ridiculous. You need to hold on to yourself. But I do believe in souls being in sync, souls that mirror each other."_ -Richelle Mead, _Last Sacrifice_
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


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